


We Can Eat Each Other

by onawingandaswear



Series: UndeadBond!Verse [1]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: An Undead Love Story, Blood, Existential Angst, M/M, Vampires, slight dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-14
Updated: 2013-01-14
Packaged: 2017-11-25 13:32:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/639387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onawingandaswear/pseuds/onawingandaswear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He hefts Bond’s corpse into his arms and carries the body to the shallow grave he’d dug out in desperation. The helicopter is a twisted wreck and even with the dour cloud cover of the moors, he can’t risk daylight. Not now, not when he’s so close.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Can Eat Each Other

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sfumatosoup](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sfumatosoup/gifts).



> Yup. I wrote vampire!AU fic. Hooray! I'm just going to start troping it out over here...  
> Sfumatosoup has done some amazingly beautiful art for this fic, which you can find over here: goo.gl/suLDt
> 
> And jasperputpentopaper made some gorgeous art as well: goo.gl/ziAZi

 

He died in China.

He forgets that sometimes. Forgets that when he broke the cyanide cap off the false back left molar, death did come as promised. Painfully and swiftly.

He also forgets waking up in the ground. Choking on dirt and filth until he realized he didn’t need the breath he was so afraid of lacking.

He doesn’t understand it now any better than he did then, but he knows that whatever made him like this abandoned him just like so many others.

So he starts searching. He goes about his nightly business, yes, be always he looks for others. People like him; monsters and killers and devils made flesh.

He wants to find someone like him, anyone at all that will make him feel less alone, less damned. But he never finds them. No clan. No secret society of inhuman creatures. No one like him. But he was raised going to the  cinema, reading great literature that told tales of redemption through love and understanding. 

So he decided to _make_ someone like him. He wants to cherish someone like no one ever did for him. It’s a primal drive that culminates in a forever lacking desire to create new life, not just destroy it. 

He was human once. That must count for something.

 

* * *

 

Sévérine is a rare jewel, but like the others she is too afraid of what he has become to tolerate who he might once have been. He wakes up more than once to a bullet in his chest or a knife to his throat, but he’s patient. He waits for her to come around, even stops feeding where she might stumble upon him, but it is all for naught.

She buys crosses and holy water from markets while he’s away, they don’t hurt him physically, but emotionally? That is a different matter altogether.

She tries to kill him. Even convinces an MI6 agent to do the deed for her. It’s a betrayal he cannot abide, but it is, however, how he physically meets James Bond. 

His antithesis. The man that all but replaced him in the eyes of so many.

Most astonishingly of all, Bond isn’t afraid of him. Which means the man’s either incredibly stupid or inspiringly brave.

They banter back and forth, matching wit and Raoul knows Bond’s the one. 

No. James. The man’s name is James.

 

* * *

 

If anything he can see better in the darkness, which is why it’s mildly disturbing to see one of his hired guns cut James down so unceremoniously as the man sprints across the frozen lake.

He makes a choice, in that moment, between pursuing a woman he knows to be mortally wounded or turning a potential mate.

It isn’t a difficult decision.

“You have died before,” he tells James gently as red stains the ice around them. Bond just looks at him, gaze challenging even as he chokes on his own blood. 

Raoul looks at his own wrist and contemplates his next move. 

He’s never seen this done, never found another to explain it, so he lets instinct drive him and hopes desperately that whatever _this_ is produces the desired results.

“For what it’s worth, James, I am sorry it had to happen like this. I’d hoped to court you under different circumstances.”

Bond is barely able to keep his eyes trained on Silva, he’s so close to unconsciousness, and Raoul can’t wait any longer. He tries to struggle, but he’s lost too much blood, and it’s no difficult task for Raoul to sink his teeth into James’ neck.

There is no magic in the man’s blood. No fireworks or angelic choirs. Just fear and death and anger. 

Bond tastes like food. 

He doesn’t know what he was expecting. 

It’s only distantly that he remembers to pull away and offer James his own blood, but by the time he’s gathered his thoughts the man is unresponsive. 

Raoul does his best to get what he can into James’ system, but he knows it might not be enough. He lets himself hope otherwise, but realism is what has gotten him this far.

He massages James’ throat and rubs his own blood over the agent’s wounds.

It’ll be enough. 

It has to be.

 

* * *

  

He hefts Bond’s corpse into his arms and carries the body to the shallow grave he’d dug out in desperation. The helicopter is a twisted wreck and even with the dour cloud cover of the moors, he can’t risk daylight. Not now, not when he’s so close.

Good makers stay.

He repeats that in his mind as he lies down beside Bond’s bloody form, sweeping the displaced soil over their bodies.

“Good makers stay.” he repeats aloud, running an unsteady hand over Bond’s hair, one eye trained on the agent’s pale face the other on the lightening horizon. 

He pulls a rotted coffin lid over the both of them, a last defense, and tucks himself against James, hoping that when he wakes again, he’ll have borne something beautiful.

  

* * *

 

Raoul Silva wakes to screaming and for a brief moment forgets where he is. Until blunt nails claw at his face and he’s forced to dig himself out of the ground or be faced with disfigurement. Raoul sweeps the soil from his clothing and looks back to James, still partially covered by Silva’s coat and smiles at the sight.

It worked. 

Bond thrashes in the shallow pit, eyes bloodshot and teeth glinting in the in the pale light. He gasps for air he doesn’t need and kicks at Raoul when he comes too close.

“What did you do to me?” James snarls around his fangs, unaware he’s shredding the flesh around his mouth. “ _God it hurts._ ”

Raoul can only watch as James convulses on the frozen ground. Contemplating. Then he remembers.

“Ah! You need food!”

Bond looks at him like he’s mad, face bloody and hair frozen into dirty spikes, but he’s too weak to get up and Raoul takes the opportunity afforded to him.

For miles there are only corpses, frozen solid with nothing palatable in their veins and he is left with few options; but one, nonetheless, that is more appealing than the others. More romantic.

“You will drink from me, yes?”

James stares, expression equal parts disgust and curiosity.

“I know, _so barbaric_ , but we must make due.”

So he slits his wrist and offers the wound to James. The man recoils at first, but after long enough Bond responds, licking and sucking at the cut with a fervor that surprises even Raoul.

It is a good start, he thinks.

 

* * *

 

Bond keeps his distance after the first feeding, but never strays too far. At least not after he tries to flee in daylight the morning after his rebirth.

“What is this?”

Bond touches his face and his fingers come away red.

Silva sighs.

“Did you rest at all?”

“No, I was up researching what the hell you did to me.”

Bond tries to wipe the blood away from his eyes and only succeeds in smearing more red across his face. 

“There are consequences to this life: if you refuse to go to ground, your body rebels.”

“I’m not tired.”

“You will be, love. Come with me.”

“Don’t call me that.” 

“I’ll call you what I like, you are my progeny, whether you like it or not.”

“I _don’t_ like it,” Bond mutters sullenly, ripping the cap off a half-congealed bag of blood.

“We’ll get you something substantial tomorrow evening. A rapist or some such nonsense, so not to affect your delicate sensibilities.”

Bond rattles off a string of curses but does as directed and slips into the plush lined coffin Raoul nicked from a local funeral home.

“Sleep tight, my darling”

Bond spits a mouthful of blood at him.

Raoul is too happy to be upset.

 

* * *

 

 

“Why me?” James asks a few nights later from where Raoul has chained him to a bed, “Why not turn M? She’s the one you obsessed over.”

“My ‘obsession’ had to do with the mortality of the woman who knowingly left me to die. I would rather have not to spend eternity with an individual who hated me and who condemned me to this existence in the first place.”

“ _I_ hate you.”

“You hate what I’ve done to you. There is a difference.”

“Is there?”

“Yes. It just may take you some time to realize it. Eternity should suffice, don’t you think?”

James snarls at him and is visibly shocked when his fangs slip through his gum line.

“You will never find another on this earth that will understand you as I do.” Raoul says lightly, motioning at James’ mouth. “But feel free to try.”

Bond falls silent and his fangs disappear, the only indication they were ever out the welling drop of blood on his lower lip.

“I confess there are things about this life that I do not know, and I cannot show you what was never shown to me, but I will do my best to teach you what I can. I will start with this: lesson one, morality the first thing to go,” He tells James as he drops a playful nip to the man’s shoulder. 

“Lesson two,” he continues, trailing a cool hand along James’ scarred stomach. “And I do believe this one is more important, I will never leave you.” 

 _‘I’ll take care of you’_ goes unspoken.

James stares at him with those stunning blue eyes and breathes out slowly, a habit he has yet to shake.

“This is happening, isn’t it?” He asks, tone resigned. “My heart doesn’t beat, I’m cold as death and you’re still here. No matter what, you’re _still here_.”

Raoul smiles broadly, letting his fangs show proudly, and James continues, wrists pulling at the restraints.

“If anyone finds out what I am, they’ll vivisect me. So no more 007, no more MI6. Just you and me. Forever. The last two rats.”

Raoul shakes his head firmly.

“Not rats. Not anymore. Something better.”

James’ fangs slide out with a soft _snkt_ and he bares his teeth in a parody of Raoul’s smile.

“Alright,” Bond says slowly, mindful of his teeth. “Might as well give this a shot.”

Raoul laughs bodily and he can’t remember the last time he felt this elated. James just watches him with a quirked smile.

“Happy are we?”

“Oh yes,” Raoul sighs. “So very happy.”

 


End file.
